10 July 2008

Evacuating Bangladesh

The lack of commitment to reducing greenhouse gas emissions leaves Bangladesh with no alternative but to consider mass evacuation. A. Hannan Ismail begins to ask what this might mean.


Have boat, will travel

Bangladeshis have long been known as a mobile people. In fact, you could say that it is in our blood. And yet this wanderlust owes much more to another liquid substance: water.

An earthquake-induced shift of the Jamuna river system made eastern Bengal both navigable and cultivable after the late sixteenth century. This change in waterways brought settlers from the west of the sub-continent: pioneers who introduced agricultural practices and non-liturgical Islamic rituals that intermingled with local religious customs. Some of these newcomers became semi-mythologized as pirs (holy men). The songs of Lalon, meandering across the late nineteenth century like so many of Bengal’s rivers, celebrated the admixture of faith and farming that became their legacy.

That other big chunk of water, the Bay of Bengal, enabled maritime inhabitants of an earlier Bengal to explore and trade with Indochina and Java, and export variants of Buddhism and Hinduism to those parts of the world. All of this happened long before the Portuguese, the Dutch, the French and then the British commandeered the waterways. Water too carried agricultural labourers from greater Noakhali and Chittagong on seasonal treks to the tilling fields of Burma. Such excursions are why the old-timers of ‘Singha Pura’ (Singapore) sometimes referred to people of south Asian descent as ‘Bangals’.

Here today, gone tomorrow

The eastern part of historical Bengal is an active delta. Geological and hydro-morphological forces wash vast quantities of silt down from the Himalayas and this settles to become alluvium. This sediment has built up over the last 6,000 years or so for form a territory that is, for the time being at least, home to about 150 million people. Seen through the telescope of time, Bangladesh is a geological infant. The gradients of the Himalayas and its piedmonts, combined with the monsoons, have made this plain land possible. Conversely, no Himalayas means no big rivers: no Padma, no Jamuna and no Meghna: ergo no Bangladesh.

Is it a bit much to say that this can come to an end? Given enough time it will. The ecological fate of Bangladesh is already settled. Man-made climate change will only accelerate us to towards this conclusion. Thermal expansion of the Bay of Bengal, tectonic events stimulated by changes in temperature, increasingly erratic run-off from the estuaries, topsoil erosion where most of the biodiversity lives and dies, more intense pulses of rainfall and a potential collapse of the monsoon cycle itself, saline penetration, aridity in the western part of the country, and so on. We have pressed fast-forward to the inevitable.

Eight centuries after water carried Bengali traders to the perimeters of the Indian Ocean, and four centuries after water again brought pioneers from upper-riparian reaches, water will again prompt Bangladeshis to set sail.

Awareness is good but not good enough

The science is now pretty clear. Finally, fourth time round, the world is listening to the work of the United Nations and its Inter-governmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). And with it, a new generation of Bangladeshis at home and overseas has tuned in. What took you so long, bandhu?

The growing awareness has many converts, not all of whom you’d want your mother to meet. The Pentagon, for instance, produced a report in 2004 warning of the national security threat posed by climate change (the inevitable first filter for that most martial of governments). Conservative periodicals such as The Economist have finally caught up with 40 years of environmentalist lobbying on the matter.

Bangladeshis who have been on the climate change beat for decades continue to plug away, earning well-deserved plaudits for their efforts. Indeed, we are fortunate to have some well-regarded and well-placed experts at home and abroad. They are now being joined by a whole new generation of players. Young Bangladeshi journalists are beginning to pen their own news stories and analysis with increasing literacy. All sorts of neophytes are getting involved too, mobilizing, meeting, and engaging everywhere. The Bangladeshi Blogosphere is buzzing, in its sometimes-embarrassing and sometimes-useful way.

A growth in public awareness of climate change is a secular good. It says in the text books that public awareness and mobilization can induce both governments and the private sector to develop and deepen commitments to climate change action. I happen to believe what I’m reading. The text book goes on to say that people as citizens can pressure their governments to act; while the same people, this time acting as consumers, can prompt similar responses from markets. Flipping to the chapter about empowering the poor, we understand that deepening democracy and making markets more inclusive can bring power to still more people. Without informed and mobilized publics, both governments and the private sector will likely remain either too reactive or too slow, stuck-in-the mud throw backs rather than vanguards of transformative change.

But will public awareness and the pressure this can potentially exert on both governments and markets be enough to save Bangladesh this time? I have already answered that question, but it is worth burying false optimism and naïve defiance once and for all.

Too little, too slow, too late

Here is where we are today as described by actors worth listening to. Rajendra Pachauri, Chair of the IPCC, has suggested that the international community has only seven years to pull its proverbial finger out and demonstrate meaningful action. Bleak becomes bleaker if you believe the World Wildlife Fund’s assessment of the recent G8 summit outcome on climate change: “Pathetic.”

James Gustave Speth, former head of the United Nations Development Programme, suggests that it’s not very clever to expect the problem to become the solution. In his new book, The Bridge at the Edge of the World: Capitalism, the Environment, and Crossing from Crisis to Sustainability, he concludes that the costs of capitalism far outweigh its benefits. He argues that the world needs less rapacious and unsustainable approaches to creating value out of ecology and society. Put this one on your reading list.

My personal experience suggests that pessimism is entirely appropriate.

Right now I work in Zambia, sub-Saharan Africa. The team I work with has supported the Government to develop a national climate change strategy, a national action plan of adaptation, a national climate change secretariat, the beginnings of in-depth economic analyses on the impacts of climate change, developed a proposal to ‘climate proof’ the national development plan, and so on. We have helped augment national awareness campaigns and are trying to strengthen the capacity of Zambians to engage meaningfully in multilateral processes. Finally, we are debating the very debatable virtues of carbon trading.

In spite of this effort, climate change remains just one of a million issues vying for space within the consciousness of elected representatives and in the pockets of covetous public officials. Who can blame them? This is a class of political and administrative elite that has been schooled and seduced and sold to the myths of the CO2 economy. They are disciples of the narrowly economistic world views of the IMF and the World Bank, one which bilateral donors such as the UK’s Department for International Development have been only too happy to reinforce down the years.

Meanwhile mean surface temperatures have risen by fully one degree Celsius in the last 30 years; the Kalahari Desert is remobilizing northwards; aridity is becoming endemic; seasons are becoming less predictable and disrupting the agricultural cycle upon which the majority of the population depends; and natural disasters are more erratic and intense when they do occur. If this wasn’t enough, here come the same donors again, sacks full of cash and this time talking the good talk about climate change.

What we miss

Is there a future for Bangladesh’s bottom 145 million? In Bangladesh? No; Overseas? If this is about human rights, the answer should be Yes.

Let me try to explain. We all have rights, either realized or denied. The Western mindset tends to obsess about civil and political rights, but there are also social, economic and cultural rights. There are rights to development and rights to habitat too. These rights can be inter-generational. This makes the rights / climate change relationship a Pandora’s Box that most countries of the over-consuming global North would want to remain nailed shut. This alone suggests that it is a track worth taking.

Why? As we can see from the discussions around Kyoto and its successor arrangements, the over-consuming global North has yet to come close to acknowledging its historical role in creating economies, politics, institutions and cultures that depend on CO2-belching technologies. The G8 cannot even agree on the baseline year from which to measure current performance on emissions reduction. So, no accountability for the past and not much for the present either.

To establish ‘baselines’ would imply responsibility. It’s the foot in the door through which the moral case for compensation could enter. The Kyoto Protocol goes as far as to acknowledge differentiated responsibilities, but a human rights-based approach to climate change responsibility could take us further. Indeed, it could take us in the direction of reparations.

Alternatives? If a rights-based argument doesn’t carry the weight it should, then perhaps the global North would prefer to apply the Nuremberg Principles on itself. The good bits went something like this: If you invade another country, you are responsible for everything that happens afterwards (civil and ethnic strife: yours; sectarianization: yours; economic collapse: yours). Or to use former U.S. Secretary of State Colin Powell’s counsel to President George W. Bush before Iraq War Two, “If you break it, you own it.” Likewise, surely: if you emit without restraint, you are responsible for everything that happens after that. Britain and other Allied Forces applied this principle with a vengeance on the Axis Powers after World War Two. There’s still some of that medicine left in the bottle. There are contemporary efforts to promote similar levels of accountability. I could cite, for example, the assessed repayment of climate debt promoted by Friends of the Earth.

Pressing for justice and equity on climate change impacts from a human rights-based perspective means that we in the under-consuming global South must be ready to reverse the gaze and insist on the global North taking responsibility and fulfilling its obligations. Yet today, few countries in the global South have incorporated historical injustice into their calculations for a more just future. Some do try to distinguish between emissions deriving from conspicuous consumption as opposed to subsistence consumption. And there are indeed a handful of countries, especially the big ones such as Brazil, China, India and South Africa, who have raised the matter of historical responsibility.

If we are serious about the human rights of Bangladeshis who will be hit hardest by climate change, then our positions need to be invigorated by a rights-based approach. Social, economic and cultural rights face obliteration. The rights to development and habitation are at mortal risk. Civil and political rights, which receive so much of the attention under the crude shorthand of ‘democracy,’ will be washed away. The rights-based approach means being serious about responsibilities. This is about more than Our Common Future (the title of the landmark Brundtland Report of 1987). It must begin with acknowledgment of responsibilities for our common past.

One-way ticket

Since the ‘international community’ does not appear to be up to the task of shifting fast towards low-emitting systems of production, distribution and consumption, the next logical and humane step would be to start looking for new homes overseas for tens of millions of Bangladeshis.

To date, the effects of climate change have mostly produced internal displacement within the borders of Bangladesh, with India also taking some of the brunt. That is to say, its human impacts remain hidden from the view of the global North. The net of migration must now be cast wider.

If I was a policy wonk, I would suggest that such relocation would have two inter-related objectives: first, the protection of the rights of the people relocated reconciled with the responsibilities of receiving countries in lieu of actual repayment of climate debt; and second, the avoidance of tension and conflict likely to occur in the absence of such strategies. The first objective is the yin to the second objective’s yang.

Sound crazy? It might, if you already haven’t begun to think about it. But we’re serious about human rights, aren’t we?

It sounds nuts because today we live in a world defined by the prohibitions of nation-states, plus regional and global compacts more or less premised on the sovereignty of nation-states. This coercive apparatus, erected across the globe over the last one hundred years, is already over-loaded by toxic disputes involving nationalisms, class, ethnicity, religion, livelihoods and resources. It doesn’t take too well to large-scale human movements. Then add tens of millions of Bangladeshis to the equation.

That’s where we’re headed because until the over-consuming global North in particular pulls its finger out, it’s the right thing to do because it’s the rights-based thing to pursue.

It won’t be fun. The politically-sanctioned resettlement of entire populations is nothing new. They have been prompted by war and sometimes presented as a remedy to avert further war. Hundreds of thousands of Germans were resettled westwards after World War Two as part of a political outcome framed by the Allies. The Jewish diaspora too needed accommodation after the horrors meted out during that same conflict. Were it not for the subsequent denial of Palestinian rights and the disastrous disregard for a status quo based on the 1967 borders, today’s bloodshed in that region could have been much reduced.

Large-scale resettlements are rarely handled well if handled abruptly or non-transparently. Had Clement Atlee’s Labour government not been in such a hurry to run away from the Indian sub-continent (remember, it brought forward its withdrawal one year ahead of schedule), perhaps the appalling scale of massacre in the Punjab could have been averted. And going further back still, resettlement of Native Americans westwards, ahead of the advancing settlers, was marked by the treachery and betrayal of President Andrew Jackson and others. Indeed, it served as a thin veil for genocide until in 1893 the U.S. census declared, with chilling banality, that the internal frontier was closed.

These precedents do not augur well for an evacuation of Bangladesh. But what are the humane alternatives?

A common refrain of south Asian immigrants growing up in Britain in the 1970s and 1980s was, “We are over here because you were over there.” The influx of south Asians into Britain was intertwined with the British presence in south Asia for two centuries beforehand. The New Commonwealth Immigration Act of 1964 implicitly recognized this historical tie.

Today, people uprooted by climate change should be getting ready to move for an analogous reason. “We are coming over there because you have been emitting over, well, everywhere actually.” You can call this blow-back, historical symmetry, reaping what you sow, or just desserts. But it is history balancing itself out and it cannot be avoided.

A fight for the right

The natural course of action for this human-induced catastrophe would be for people to up and move from A to B. People have done this throughout all of human history when confronted by environmental change. In pre-modern times there was of course no talk about human rights. But then again, there were no nation-states either.

I was only partly joking about applying the Nuremburg Principles. Mentioning them in this context shows just how unjust climate change impacts will be. So it is a good thing that we have universal human rights, since it offers a basis—I would argue the only basis—on which Bangladeshis can offset the restrictions and denials and obfuscations of the over-consuming global North.

Human rights can provide a vocabulary through which ethical and moral arguments can be fought to protect and promote the life chances of millions; it can generate grounds for solidarity between peoples who share common cause for inter-generational justice, and it can call to order those who would argue that the past is past, and we should now only focus on a Churchillian age of consequences.

If the G8 and other over-consuming emitters do not sort themselves out soon, then a real age of consequences will be upon us. Tens of millions of Bangladeshis will call upon the traditions of their maritime forebears and make their ways to more clement shores. They will demand their rights.

And what will we do then?

4 comments:

wrayb said...

Thank you for your thoughtful writing. Your piece helps me get a grip on what's going on with Bush posing and smiling with his counterparts at last acknowledging climate change but upon returning brushing off raised hoped of actual action with: "There is a right way and a wrong way blah blah blab." In my parochial view I thought it was only a play for the US political arena. Well, it is that, to help McCain to be his successor, but I understand now that there is even more at stake. Thanks. -Walter Ray Brock

dorpon50 said...

Dear Mr. Aziz ul Huq,

You must have a legitimate concern and your clarion call to save Bangladesh must be taken into consideration by all who loves Bangladesh. However, before you circulate this type of scary news to Bangladeshis, would you make sure what you are saying is all correct and have no other alternate opinions. Johann Hari is publishing his article for long time that does not provide information that are all correct. A lot of emotion, guess, and assumptions are there, as opposed authentic studies done by world renouned scientists in this field. For your information, I am providing below, an analysis including the studies, and requesting you not to be alarmed by the amount that you are showing in your posting. Please push this matter gently, without scarring general people, understanding the issue very clearly, and organizing people and providers for long term solution and adaptation.

I see many people are posting about 25 m sea level rise. Scaring everybody like chicklets. This is an issue which is not very clear yet and general public have nothing much to do about it except voicing to stop the big polluters to reduce and ultimately stop polluting. It is not always very easy. For example, can you ask all rice producers to stop wet and under water ploughing that contributes a significant amount of greenhouse gas, can you ask all coal burning plants to stop burning coals, can you ask all motorists to stop driving? You can't. So, it is necessary to learn the facts on this issue, try sincerely to make adjustments, approach towards amicable solution by the world folks together. Individual country can't do anything about it. Excess of everything is bad. Remaining indifferent about these environmental problems would be very wrong, I would equate it with some kind of crime, but some of the environmental activists are scarring and terrifying people giving wrong information to public. Like, the posting below is citing 25 meter sea level rise, giving reference to Professor James Hansen, the director of NASA's Goddard Institute for Space Studies. The following link is for that published article. Please read it. You will not find 25 meter sea level rise anywhere in this article.

http://climateprogress.org/2007/05/25/yet-another-must-read-by-james-hansen/

Professor James Hansen mentioned, ' Rahmstorf (2007) has noted that if one uses the observed sea level rise of the past century to calibrate a linear projection of future sea level, BAU warming will lead to a sea level rise of the order of one meter in the present century.' However, he thinks if the West Antarctic ice sheet is largely depleted then a non-linear action may start that may yield a sea level rise of the order of 5 m this century. This has not been proven, and just a mere guess yet. The opposite may also happen that the other scientists think that the melting of huge amount of ice may cool off the existing warm sea current that keeps north-western Europe warm. That will definitely affect the environment. So, many variables are not yet known on this issue and where we general public can't do too much about other than learning and voicing, we should not be scarred and alarmed. Lets try to remain awake and learn as much as we can on these types of crucial issues.

I could not stop myself telling one thing is that about a decade ago when ethanol issue started surfacing, I always said that the ethanol will do lot more harm than good for the humanity. Business tycoons will step into it and convert a lot of human food to the cars. It will accelerate hunger worldwide because the export will stop and the less fortunate countries who can not produce their food will die by hunger. It is happening now. Company like ADM grabbed entire American Prairies, which is by the way, world's food basket. Most all food grains are going to local ethanol plants rather than being exported outside. Food value rose skyrocketed all over the world, including USA, who used to feed the entire world. Now ethanol's contribution !!!!! Ethanol pollutes is polluting the environment in the process if manufacturing 5 times more that what it would save the environment while burning in the car. It also takes more than 3 times cost to the same amount of gasoline for manufacturing. So, what we are gaining from ethanol?

When we make an issue scary, political opportunists line up with profiteer business tycoons, and eye washes public by this and that and scary public hails it but in course of time truth comes out when repairing the damage becomes too late.
Please see the article which is ''Church_White_Study on Global sea-level rise'' in the following link:

http://www.pol.ac.uk/psmsl/author_archive/church_white/GRL_Church_White_2006_024826.pdf

This study indicates that in this century only 1/3 meter of sea level will rise.
We do not know yet what will happen. Lets remain informed, educated, active but calm. There is no reason for scarring. There is another phenomenon existing for the lower Bangladesh which is the river born silts from Himalayas, India, Nepal and Upper Bangladesh. This silt sedimentation at the earth surface in Bangladesh is lifting the bed height higher day by day and I believe it will not be less that the rate of sea level rise. Let some good scientists study that phenomenon. There is no good publication on it yet. Lets wait and see what happens.

Regards,
K. Raisuddin



Azizhuq@hotmail.com wrote:

> From: azizhuq@hotmail.com
> Date: Sat, 21 Jun 2008 11:14:08 +0000
> Subject: [Bafi] Save Bangladesh
>
> Dear all:
>
> If you love Bangladesh, which I am sure most of you do, then here is a news story of great concern. Please read this, circulate to others, forward to the local media but above all DO SOME THING. Bangladesh has bee described as the ground zero on Global Warming. Please join the war against global warming. See what the efforts of one person can do. See what Al Gore has done to raise awareness in America. Be the Al Gore of Bangladesh. I am forwarding this to several lists please forgive me if you receive multiple posting but I feel a sense of urgency.
>
> Aziz Ul Huq
>
>
>
>
> Bangladesh is set to disappear under the waves by the end of the century -
> A special report by Johann Hari
>
> Bangladesh, the most
> crowded nation on earth, is set to disappear under the waves by the end of this
> century – and we will be to blame. Johann Hari took a journey to see for
> himself how western profligacy and indifference have sealed the fate of 150
> million peoplewent to see for himself the spreading misery and destruction as
> the ocean reclaims the land on which so many millions depend
>
> Friday, 20 June 2008
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> This spring, I took a month-long
> road trip across a country that we – you, me and everyone we know – are
> killing. One day, not long into my journey, I travelled over tiny ridges and
> groaning bridges on the back of a motorbike to reach the remote village of
> Munshigonj. The surviving villagers – gaunt, creased people – were sitting by a
> stagnant pond. They told me, slowly, what we have done to them.
>
> Ten years ago, the village began to
> die. First, many of the trees turned a strange brownish-yellow colour and
> rotted. Then the rice paddies stopped growing and festered in the water. Then
> the fish floated to the surface of the rivers, gasping. Then many of the
> animals began to die. Then many of the children began to die.
>
> The waters flowing through
> Munshigonj – which had once been sweet and clear and teeming with life – had
> turned salty and dead.
>
> Arita Rani, a 25-year-old, sat
> looking at the salt water, swaddled in a blue sari and her grief. "We
> couldn't drink the water from the river, because it was suddenly full of salt
> and made us sick," she said. "So I had to give my children water from
> this pond. I knew it was a bad idea. People wash in this pond. It's dirty. So
> we all got dysentery." She keeps staring at its surface. "I have had
> it for 10 years now. You feel weak all the time, and you have terrible stomach
> pains. You need to run to the toilet 10 times a day. My boy Shupria was seven
> and he had this for his whole life. He was so weak, and kept getting coughs and
> fevers. And then one morning..."
>
> Her mother interrupted the trailing
> silence. "He died," she said. Now Arita's surviving three-year-old,
> Ashik, is sick, too. He is sprawled on his back on the floor. He keeps
> collapsing; his eyes are watery and distant. His distended stomach feels like a
> balloon pumped full of water. "Why did this happen?" Arita asked.
>
> It is happening because of us.
> Every flight, every hamburger, every coal power plant, ends here, with this.
> Bangladesh is a flat, low-lying land made of silt, squeezed in between the
> melting mountains of the Himalayas and the rising seas of the Bay of Bengal. As
> the world warms, the sea is swelling – and wiping Bangladesh off the map.
>
> Deep below the ground of Munshigonj
> and thousands of villages like it, salt water is swelling up. It is this
> process – called "saline inundation" – that killed their trees and
> their fields and contaminated their drinking water. Some farmers have shifted
> from growing rice to farming shrimp – but that employs less than a quarter of
> the people, and it makes them dependent on a fickle export market. The
> scientific evidence shows that unless we change now, this salt water will keep
> rising and rising, until everything here is ocean.
>
> I decided to embark on this trip
> when, sitting in my air-conditioned flat in London, I noticed a strange and
> seemingly impossible detail in a scientific report. The International Panel on
> Climate Change (IPCC) – whose predictions have consistently turned out to be
> underestimates – said that Bangladesh is on course to lose 17 per cent of its
> land and 30 per cent of its food production by 2050. For America, this would be
> equivalent to California and New York State drowning, and the entire mid-West
> turning salty and barren.
>
> Surely this couldn't be right? How
> could more than 20 million Bangladeshis be turned into refugees so suddenly and
> so silently? I dug deeper, hoping it would be disproved – and found that many
> climatologists think the IPCC is way too optimistic about Bangladesh. I turned
> to Professor James Hansen, the director of Nasa's Goddard Institute for Space
> Studies, whose climate calculations have proved to be more accurate than
> anybody else's. He believes the melting of the Greenland ice cap being picked
> up by his satellites today, now, suggests we are facing a 25-metre rise in sea
> levels this century – which would drown Bangladesh entirely. When I heard this,
> I knew I had to go, and see.
>
> 1. The edge of a cliff
>
> The first thing that happens when
> you arrive in Dhaka is that you stop. And wait. And wait. And all you see
> around you are cars, and all you hear is screaming. Bangladesh's capital is in
> permanent shrieking gridlock, with miles of rickshaws and mobile heaps of rust.
> The traffic advances by inches and by howling. Each driver screams himself
> hoarse announc-ing – that was my lane! Stay there! Stop moving! Go back! Go
> forward! It is a good-natured shrieking: everybody knows that this is what you
> do in Dhaka. If you are lucky, you enter a slipstream of traffic that moves for
> a minute – until the jams back up and the screaming begins once more.
>
> Around you, this megalopolis of 20
> million people seems to be screaming itself conscious. People burn rubbish by
> the roadside, or loll in the rivers. Children with skin deformities that look
> like infected burns try to thrust maps or sweets into your hand. Rickshaw
> drivers with thighs of steel pedal furious-ly as whole families cling on and
> offer their own high-volume traffic commentary to the groaning driver, and the
> groaning city.
>
> I wanted to wade through all this
> chaos to find Bangladesh's climate scientists, who are toiling in the crannies
> of the city to figure out what – if anything – can be saved.
>
> Dr Atiq Rahman's office in downtown
> Dhaka is a nest of scientific reports and books that, at every question, he
> dives into to reel off figures. He is a tidy, grey-moustached man who speaks
> English very fast, as if he is running out of time.
>
> "It is clear from all the data
> we are gathering here in Bangladesh that the IPCC predictions were much too
> conservative," he said. He should know: he is one of the IPCC's leading
> members, and the UN has given him an award for his unusually prescient
> predictions. His work is used as one of the standard textbooks across the
> world, including at Oxford and Harvard. "We are facing a catastrophe in
> this country. We are talking about an absolutely massive displacement of human beings."
>
>
> He handed me shafts of scientific
> studies as he explained: "This is the ground zero of global warming."
> He listed the effects. The seas are rising, so land is being claimed from the
> outside. (The largest island in the country, Bhola, has lost half its land in
> the past decade.) The rivers are super-charged, becoming wider and wider, so
> land is being claimed from within. (Erosion is up by 40 per cent). Cyclones are
> becoming more intense and more violent (2007 was the worst year on record for
> intense hurricanes here). And salt water is rendering the land barren. (The
> rate of saline inundation has trebled in the past 20 years.) "There is no
> question," Dr Rahman said, "that this is being caused primarily by
> human action. This is way outside natural variation. If you really want people
> in the West to understand the effect they are having here, it's simple. From
> now on, we need to have a system where for every 10,000 tons of carbon you
> emit, you have to take a Bangladeshi family to live with you. It is your
> responsibility." In the past, he has called it "climatic
> genocide".
>
> The worst-case scenario, Dr Rahman
> said, is if one of the world's land-based ice-sheets breaks up. "Then we
> lose 70 to 80 per cent of our land, including Dhaka. It's a different world, and
> we're not on it. The evidence from Jim Hansen shows this is becoming more
> likely – and it can happen quickly and irreversibly. My best understanding of
> the evidence is that this will probably happen towards the end of the lifetime
> of babies born today."
>
> I walked out in the ceaseless
> churning noise of Dhaka. Everywhere I looked, people were building and making
> and living: my eyes skimmed up higher and higher and find more and more
> activity. A team of workers were building a house; behind and above them,
> children were sewing mattresses on a roof; behind and above them, more men were
> building taller buildings. This is the most cramped country on earth: 150
> million people living in an area the size of Iowa. Could all this life really
> be continuing on the crumbling edge of a cliff?
>
> 2. 'It is like the Bay is angry'
>
>
> I was hurtling through the darkness
> at 120mph with my new driver, Shambrat. He was red-eyed from chewing pan, a
> leaf-stimulant that makes you buzz, and I could see nothing except the tiny
> pools of light cast by the car. They showed we were on narrow roads, darting
> between rice paddies and emptied shack-towns, in the midnight silence. I kept
> trying to put on my seatbelt, but every time Shambrat would cry, "You no
> need seatbelt! I good driver!" and burst into hysterical giggles.
>
> To see if the seas were really
> rising, I had circled a random low-lying island on the map called Moheshkhali
> and asked Shambrat to get me there. It turned out the only route was to go to
> Coxs Bazar – Bangladesh's Blackpool – and then take a small wooden rowing boat
> that has a huge chugging engine attached to the front. I clambered in alongside
> three old men, a small herd of goats, and some chickens. The boat was operated
> by a 10-year-old child, whose job is to point the boat in the right direction,
> start the engine, and then begin using a small jug to frantically scoop out the
> water that starts to leak in. After an hour of the deafening ack-ack of the
> engine, we arrived at the muddy coast of Moheshkhali.
>
> There was a makeshift wooden pier,
> where men were waiting with large sacks of salt. As we climbed up on to the
> fragile boards, people helped the old men lift up the animals. There were men
> mooching around the pier, waiting for a delivery. They looked bemused by my
> arrival. I asked them if the sea levels were rising here. Rezaul Karim Chowdry,
> a 34-year-old who looked like he is in his fifties, said plainly: "Of
> course. In the past 30 years, two-thirds of this island has gone under the
> water. I had to abandon my house. The land has gone into the sea."
> Immediately all the other men start to recount their stories. They have lost
> their houses, their land, and family members to the advance.
>
> They agreed to show me their
> vanishing island. We clambered into a tuc-tuc – a motorbike with a carriage on
> the back – and set off across the island, riding along narrow ridges between
> cordoned-off areas of sand and salt. The men explained that this is
> salt-farming: the salt left behind by the tide is gathered and sold. "It
> is one of the last forms of farming that we can still do here," Rezaul
> said. As we passed through the forest, he told me to be careful: "Since we
> started to lose all our land, gangs are fighting for the territory that is
> left. They are very violent. A woman was shot in the crossfire yesterday. They
> will not like an outsider appearing from nowhere."
>
> We pulled up outside a vast
> concrete structure on stilts. This, the men explained, is the cyclone shelter
> built by the Japanese years ago. We climbed to the top, and looked out towards
> the ocean. "Do you see the top of a tree, sticking out there?" Rezaul
> said, pointing into the far distance. I couldn't see anything, but then,
> eventually, I spotted a tiny jutting brown-green tip. "That is where my
> house was." When did you leave it? "In 2002. The ocean is coming very
> fast now. We think all this" – he waved his hand back over the island –
> "will be gone in 15 years."
>
> Outside the rusty house next door,
> an ancient-looking man with a long grey beard was sitting cross-legged. I
> approached him, and he rose slowly. His name was Abdul Zabar; he didn't know
> his age, but guessed he is 80. "I was born here," he said.
> "There" – and he points out to the sea. "The island began to be
> swallowed in the 1960s, and it started going really quickly in 1991. I have
> lost my land, so I can't grow anything... I only live because one of my sons
> got a job in Saudi Arabia and sends money back to us. I am very frightened, but
> what can I do? I can only trust in God." The sea stops just in front of
> his home. What will you do, I asked, if it comes closer? "We will have
> nowhere to go to."
>
> I was taken to the island's dam. It
> is a long stretch of hardened clay and concrete and mud. "This used to be
> enough," a man called Abul Kashin said, "but then the sea got so high
> that it came over the dam." They have tried to pile lumps of concrete on
> top, but they are simply washed away. "My family have left the
> island," he continued, "They were so sad to go. This is my homeland.
> If we had to leave here to go to some other place, it would be the worst day of
> my life."
>
> Twenty years ago, there were 30,000
> people on this island. There are 18,000 now – and most think they will be the
> last inhabitants.
>
> On the beach, there were large
> wooden fishing boats lying unused. Abu Bashir, a lined, thin 28-year-old,
> pointed to his boat and said, "Fishing is almost impossible now. The waves
> are much bigger than they used to be. It used to be fine to go out in a normal
> [hand-rowed] boat. That is how my father and my grandfather and my ancestors
> lived.
>
> "Now that is impossible. You
> need a [motor-driven] boat, and even that is thrown about by the waves so much.
> It's like the bay is angry."
>
> The other fishermen burst in.
> "When there is a cyclone warning, we cannot go out fishing for 10 days.
> That is a lot of business lost. There used to be two or three warnings a year.
> Last year, there were 12. The sea is so violent. We are going hungry."
>
> Yet the islanders insisted on
> offering me a feast of rice and fish and eggs. I was ushered into the council
> leader's house – a rusty shack near the sea – and the men sat around, urging me
> to tell the world what is happening. "If people know what is happening to
> us, they will help," they said. The women remained in the back room; when
> I glimpsed them and tried to thank them for the food, they giggled and
> vanished. I asked if the men had heard of global warming, and they looked
> puzzled. "No," they said. We stared out at the ocean and ate, as the
> sun slowly set on the island.
>
> 3. No hiding place
>
> Through the morning mist, I peered
> out of the car window at the cratered landscape. Trees jutted out at surreal
> angles from the ground. One lay upside down with its roots sticking upwards
> towards the sky, looking like a sketch for a Dali painting. Shambrat had spat
> out his pan and was driving slowly now. "There are holes in the
> ground," he said, squinting with concentration. "From the cyclone.
> You fall in..." He made a splattering sound.
>
> It was here, in the south of
> Bangladesh, that on 15 November last year, Cyclone Sidr arrived. It formed in
> the warmed Bay of Bengal and ripped across the land, taking more than 3,000
> people with it. Like Americans talking about 9/11, everybody in Bangladesh
> knows where they were when Sidr struck. For miles, the upturned and smashed-out
> houses are intermixed with tents made from blue plastic sheeting. These
> stretches of plastic were handed out by the charities in the weeks after Sidr,
> and many families are still living in them now.
>
> There have always been cyclones in
> Bangladesh, and there always will be – but global warming is making them much
> more violent. Back in Dhaka, the climatologist Ahsan Uddin Ahmed explained that
> cyclones use heat as a fuel: "The sea surface temperatures in the Bay of
> Bengal have been rising steadily for the past 40 years – and so, exactly as you
> would expect, the intensity of cyclones has risen too. They're up by 39 per
> cent on average." Again I circled a cyclone-struck island at random and
> headed for the dot.
>
> The hour-long journey on a wooden
> rowing boat from the mainland to Charkashem Island passed in a dense mist that
> made it feel like crossing the River Styx. The spectral outline of other boats
> could sometimes be glimpsed, before they disappeared suddenly. One moment an
> old woman and a goat appeared and stared at me, then they were gone.
>
> The island was a tiny dot of mud
> and lush, upturned greenery. It had no pier, so when the rowing boat bumped up
> against the sand I had to wade through the water.
>
> I looked out over the silent
> island, and saw some familiar blue sheeting in the distance. As I trudged
> towards it, I saw some gaunt teenagers half-heartedly kicking a deflated
> football. From the sheeting, a man and woman stared, astonished.
>
> "I was in my fields over
> there," Hanif Mridha said. "I saw the wind start, it was about eight
> at night, and I saw everything being blown around. I went and hid under an iron
> sheet, but that was blown away by the wind. The water came swelling up all of a
> sudden and was crashing all around me. I grabbed one of my children and ran to
> the forest" – he pointed to the cluster of trees at the heart of the
> island – "and climbed the tallest one I could reach. I went as high as I
> could but still the water kept rising and I thought – this is it, I'm going to
> drown. I'm dying, my children are dying, my wife is dying. I could see
> everything was under water and people were screaming everywhere. I held there
> for four hours with my son."
>
> When the water washed away and he
> came down, everything was gone: his house, his crops, his animals, his
> possessions. A few days later, an aid agency arrived with some rice and some
> plastic sheeting to sleep under. Nobody has come since.
>
> His wife, Begum Mridha, took over
> the story. Their children are terrified of the sea now, and have nightmares
> every night. They eat once a day, if they're lucky. "We are so
> hungry," she said. The new home they have built is made from twigs and the
> plastic sheet. Underneath it, they sleep with their eight children and Begum
> Mridha's mother. The children lay lethargically there, staring blankly into
> space over their distended bellies.
>
> Begum Mridha cooks on a lantern.
> They eat once a day – if that. "It's so cold at night we can't
> sleep," she said. "The children all have diarrhoea and they are
> losing weight. It will take us more than two years to save up and get back what
> we had."
>
> If cyclones hit this area more
> often, what would happen to you? Hanif looked down. He opened his mouth, but no
> words came.
>
> 4. Bangladesh's Noah
>
> In the middle of Bangladesh, in the
> middle of my road trip, I tracked down Abul Hasanat Mohammed Rezwan. He was
> sitting under a parasol by the banks of a river, scribbling frenetically into
> his notebook.
>
> "The catastrophe in Bangladesh
> has begun," he said. "The warnings [by the IPCC] are unfolding much
> faster than anyone anticipated." Until a few years ago, Rezwan was an
> architect, designing buildings for rich people – "but I thought, is this
> what I want to do while my country drowns? Create buildings that will be under
> water soon anyway?"
>
> He considered dedicating his life
> to building schools and hospitals, "but then I realised they would be
> under water soon as well. I was hopeless. But then I thought of boats!"
>
> He has turned himself into
> Bangladesh's Noah, urging his people to move on to boats as the Great Flood
> comes. Rezwan built a charity – Shidhulai Swanirvar Sangstha, which means
> self-reliance – that is building the only schools and hospitals and homes that
> can last now: ones that float.
>
> We clambered on to his first
> school-boat, which is moored in Singra. In this area there is no electricity,
> no sewage system, and no state. The residents live the short lives of
> pre-modern people. But now, suddenly, they have a fleet of these boats, stocked
> with medicines and lined with books on everything from Shakespeare to
> accountancy to climatology. Nestling between them, there are six internet
> terminals with broadband access.
>
> The boat began to float down the
> Curnai River, gathering scores of beaming kids as it went. Fatima Jahan, an
> unveiled 18-year-old girl dressed in bright red, arrived to go online. She was
> desperate to know the cricket scores. At every muddy village-stop, the boat
> inhaled more children, and I talked to the mothers who were beating their
> washing dry by the river. "I never went to school, and I never saw a
> doctor in my life. Now my children can do both!" a thin woman with a
> shimmering heart-shaped nose stud called Nurjahan Rupbhan told me. But when I
> asked about the changes in the climate, her forehead crumpled into long
> frown-lines.
>
> I thought back to what the
> scientists told me in Dhaka. Bangladesh is a country with 230 rivers running
> through it like veins. They irrigate the land and give it its incredible
> fertility – but now the rivers are becoming supercharged. More water is coming
> down from the melting Himalayan glaciers, and more salt water is pushing up
> from the rising oceans. These two forces meet here in the heart of Bangladesh
> and make the rivers churn up – eroding the river banks with amazing speed. The
> water is getting wider, leaving the people to survive on ever-more narrow
> strips of land.
>
> Nurjahan took me up to a crumbling
> river edge, where tree roots jutted out naked. "My house was here,"
> she said. "It fell into the water. So now my house is here –" she
> motioned to a small clay hut behind us – "but now we realise this is going
> to fall in too. The river gets wider day by day."
>
> But even this, Nurjahan said, is
> not the worst problem. The annual floods have become far more extreme, too.
> "Until about 10 years ago, the floods came every year and the water would
> stay for 15 days, and it helped to wet the land. Now the water stays for four
> months. Four months! It is too long. That doesn't wet the fields, it destroys
> them. We cannot plan for anything."
>
> When the floods came last year,
> Nurjahan had no choice but to stay here. She lived with her children waist-deep
> in the cold brown water – for four months. "It was really hard to cook, or
> go to the toilet. We all got dysentery. It was miserable." Then she seemed
> to chastise herself. "But we survived! We are tough, don't you think?"
>
>
> We sat by the river-bank, our feet
> dangling down towards the river. I asked if she agrees with Rezwan that her
> only option soon will be to move on to a boat. He is launching the first models
> this summer: floating homes with trays of earth where families can grow food.
> "Yes," she said, "We will be boat-people."
>
> I clambered back on to one of the
> 42 school-boats in this area. Young children were in the front chanting the
> alphabet, and teenagers at the back were browsing through the books. I asked a
> 16-year-old boy called Mohammed Palosh Ali what he was reading about, and he
> said, "Global warming." I felt a small jolt. He was the first person
> to spontaneously raise global warming with me. Can you tell me what that is?
> "The climate is being changed by carbon dioxide," he said. "This
> is a gas that traps heat. So if there is more of it, then the ice in the north
> of the world melts and our seas rise here."
>
> I asked if he had seen this warming
> in his own life. "Of course! The floods in 1998 and 2002 were worse than
> anything in my grandfather's life. We couldn't get any drinking water, so the
> dirty water I drank made me very sick. The shit from the toilet pits had risen
> up and was floating in the water, but we still had to drink it. We put tablets
> in it but it was still disgusting. What else could we do?"
>
> Mohammed, do you know who is
> responsible for this global warming? He shakes his head. That answer lies a few
> pages further into the book. Soon he, and everybody else on this boat, will
> know it is me – and you.
>
> 5. The warming jihad
>
> What happens to a country's mind as
> it drowns? Professor Philip Jenkins of Pennsylvania State University believes
> he can glimpse the answer: "The connection between climate change and
> religious violence is not tenuous," he says. "In fact, there's a
> historical indicator of how it could unfold: the Little Ice Age."
>
> Between the ninth and 13th
> centuries, the northern hemisphere went through a natural phase of global
> warming. The harvests lasted longer – so there were more crops, and more leisure.
> Universities and the arts began to flower. But then in the late 13th century,
> the Little Ice Age struck. Crop production fell, and pack ice formed in the
> oceans, wrecking trade routes. People began to starve.
>
> "In this climate of death and
> horror, people cast about for scapegoats, even before the Black Death
> struck," he says. Tolerance withered with the climate shocks: the Church
> declared witchcraft a heresy; the Jews began to be expelled from Britain. There
> was, he says, "a very close correlation between the cooling and a
> region-wide heightening of violent intolerance."
>
> This time, there will be no need
> for imaginary scapegoats. The people responsible are on every TV screen,
> revving up their engines. Will jihadism swell with the rising seas? Bangladesh's
> religion seems to be low-key and local. In the countryside, Muslims – who make
> up 95 per cent of the nation – still worship Hindu saints and mix in a few
> Buddhist ideas, too. In the Arab world, people bring up God in almost every
> sentence. In Bangladesh, nobody does.
>
> But then, as we returned to Dhaka,
> I was having a casual conversation with Shambrat. He had been driving all night
> – at his insistence – and by this point he was wired after chewing fistfuls of
> pan, and singing along at the top of his voice to the Eighties power ballads. I
> mentioned Osama bin Laden in passing, and he said, "Bin Laden – great man!
> He fight for Islam!" Then, without looking at me, he went back to singing:
> "It must have been love, but it's over now...."
>
> I wondered how many Bangladeshis
> felt this way. The Chandni Chowk Bazaar – one of the city's main markets – was
> overcast the afternoon I decided to canvass opinions on Bin Laden. I approached
> a 24-year-old flower-seller called Mohammed Ashid, and as I inhaled the rich
> sweet scent of roses, he said: "I like him because he is a Muslim and I am
> a Muslim." Would you like Bin Laden to be in charge of Bangladesh?
> "Yes, of course," he said. And what would President Bin Laden do?
> "I have no idea," he shrugged. What would you want him to do? He
> furrowed his brow. "If Osama came to power he would make women cover up.
> Women are too free here." But what if women don't want to cover up?
> "They are Muslims. It's not up to them."
>
> A very smartly dressed man called
> Shadul Ahmed was strolling down the street to his office, where he is in charge
> of advertising. "I like him," he said. "Bin Laden works for the
> Muslims." He conceded 9/11 "was bad because many innocents
> died," but added: "Osama didn't do it. The Americans did it. They are
> guilty."
>
> As dozens of people paused from
> their shopping to talk, a pattern emerged: the men tend to like him, and the
> women don't. "I hate Bin Laden," one smartly dressed woman said,
> declining to give her name. "He is a fanatic. Bangladeshis do not like
> this." As the praise for Bin Laden was offered, I saw a boy go past on a
> rickshaw, stroking a girl's uncovered hair gently, sensuously. This is not the
> Arab world.
>
> The only unpleasant moment came
> when I approached three women selling cigarettes by the side of the road. They
> were in their early thirties, wearing white hijabs and puffing away. Akli Mouna
> said, "I like him. He is a faithful Muslim." She said "it would
> be very nice" if he was president of Bangladesh. Really? Would you be
> happy if you were forced to wear a burqa, and only rarely allowed out of your
> house? She jabbed a finger at my chest. "Yes! It would be fine if Osama
> was president and told us to wear the burqa." But Akli – you aren't
> wearing a burqa now. "It's good to wear the burqa!" she yelled. Her
> teeth, I saw, were brown and rotting. "We are only here because we are
> poor! We should be kept in the house!"
>
> I wanted to track down some
> Bangladeshi jihadis for myself, so I called the journalist Abu Sufian. He is a
> news reporter for BanglaVision, one of the main news channels, who made his
> name penetrating the thickets of the Islamist underground. He told me to meet
> him at the top of the BanglaVision skyscraper. As the city shrieked below us,
> he explained: "In the late 1980s, a group of mujahideen [holy warriors]
> who had been fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan came back to launch an Islamic
> revolution here in Bangladesh. They tried to mount an armed revolt in the north
> and kill the former Prime Minister. But it didn't come to much."
>
> Islamic fundamentalism is hobbled
> in Bangladesh, because it is still associated for most people with Paki-stan –
> the country Bangladesh fought a bloody war of independence to escape from.
>
> But Sufian says a new generation of
> Islamists is emerging with no memory of that war. "For example, I met a
> 21-year-old who had fought in Kashmir, whose father was a rickshaw driver. He
> said it was his holy duty to establish an Islamic state here through violence.
> Most were teenagers. All the jihadis I met hated democracy. They said it was
> the rule of man. According to them, only the rule of God is acceptable."
>
> He said it would be almost
> impossible to track them down – they are in prison or hiding – but my best bet
> was to head for the Al-Amin Jami mosque in the north-west of Dhaka. "They
> are fundamentalist Wahhabis, and very dangerous," he said. Yet when I
> arrived, just before 6pm prayers, it was a bright building in one of the nicer
> parts of town. Men in white caps and white robes were streaming in. An
> ice-cream stall sat outside. I approached a fiftysomething man in flowing robes
> and designer shoes. He glared at me. I explained I was a journalist, and ask if
> it would it be possible to look inside the mosque? "No. Under no
> circumstances. At all."
>
> OK. I asked a few polite questions
> about Islam, and then asked what he thought of Osama bin Laden. "Osama bin
> Laden?" he said. Yes. He scowled. "I have never heard of him."
> Never? "Never." I turned to the man standing, expectantly, next to
> him. "He has not heard of Osama bin Laden, either," he said. What about
> September 11 – you know, when the towers in New York fell? "I have never
> heard of this event, either." Some teenage boys were about to go in, so I
> approached them. Behind my back, I can sense the Gucci-man making gestures.
> "Uh... sorry... I don't think anything about Bin Laden," one of them
> said, awkwardly.
>
> I lingered as prayers took place
> inside, until a flow of men poured out so thick and fast that they couldn't be
> instructed not to speak. "Yes, we would like Osama to run Bangladesh, he
> is a good man," the first person told me. There were nods. "He fights
> for Islam!" shouted another.
>
> The crowd says this mosque – like
> most fundamentalist mosques on earth – is funded by Saudi Arabia, with the
> money you and I pay at the petrol pump. As I looked up at its green minaret
> jutting into the sky, it occurs to me that our oil purchases are simultaneously
> drowning Bangladesh, and paying for the victims to be fundamentalised.
>
> After half-an-hour of watching this
> conversation and fuming, the initially recalcitrant man strode forward.
> "Why do you want to know about Bin Laden? We are Muslims. You are
> Christian. We all believe in the same God!" he announced.
>
> Actually, I said, I am not a
> Christian. There was a hushed pause. "You are... a Jew?" he said. The
> crowd looked horrified; but then the man forced a rictus smile and announced:
> "We all believe in one God! We are all children of Abraham! We are
> cousins!" No, I said. I am an atheist. Everyone looked genuinely puzzled;
> they do not have a bromide for this occasion. "Well... then..." he
> paused, scrambling for a statement... "You must convert to Islam! Read the
> Koran! It is beautiful!" Ah – so can I come into the mosque after all?
> "No. Never."
>
> 6. The obituarist?
>
> In a small café in Dhaka, a cool
> breeze was blowing in through the window along with the endless
> traffic-screams. The 32-year-old novelist Tahmima Anam was inhaling the aroma
> of coffee and close to despair.
>
> She made her name by writing a
> tender novel – A Golden Age – about the birth of her country, Bangladesh. When
> the British finally withdrew from this subcontinent in 1948, the land they left
> behind was partitioned. Two chunks were carved out of India and declared to be
> a Muslim republic – East Pakistan and West Pakistan. But apart from their
> religion, they had very little in common. The gentle people of East Pakistan
> chafed under the dictatorial fundamentalism imposed from distant Islamabad.
> When they were ordered to start speaking Urdu, it was enough. Her novel tells
> how in 1971, they decided to declare independence and become Bangladesh. The
> Pakistanis fought back with staggering violence, but in the end Bangladesh was
> freed.
>
> Now Anam is realising that unless
> we change, fast, this fight will have been for the freedom of a drowning land –
> and her next novel may have to be its obituary.
>
> Anam came to Bangladesh late. Her
> Dhaka-born parents travelled the world, so she grew up in a slew of
> international schools, but she always dreamed of coming home. Her passion for
> this land, this place, this delta, aches through her work. About one of her
> characters, she wrote: "He had a love for all things Bengali: the swimming
> mud of the delta; the translucent, bony river fish; the shocking green palette
> of the paddy and the open, aching blue of the sky over flat land."
>
> "You can see what has started
> to happen," she says. The vision of the country drowning is becoming more
> real every day. Where could all these 150 million people go? India is already
> building a border fence to keep them out; I can't imagine the country's other
> neighbour – Burma – will offer much refuge. "We are the first to be
> affected, not the last," Anam says. "Everyone should take a good look
> at Bangladesh. This story will become your story. We are your future."
>
> It is, she says, our responsibility
> to stop this slow-mo drowning – and there is still time to save most of the
> country. "What could any Bangladeshi government do? We have virtually no
> carbon emissions to cut." They currently stand at 0.3 per cent of the
> world's – less than the island of Manhattan. "It's up to you."
>
> Anam is defiantly optimistic that
> this change can happen if enough of us work for it – but, like every scientist
> I spoke to, she knows that dealing with it simply by adaptation by Bangladeshis
> is impossible. The country has a military-approved dictatorship incapable of
> taking long-term decisions, and Dutch-style dams won't work anyway. "Any
> large-scale construction is very hard in this country, because it's all made of
> shifting silt. There's nothing to build on."
>
> So if we carry on as we are,
> Bangladesh will enter its endgame. "All the people who strain at this
> country's seams will drown with it," Anam says, "or be blown away to
> distant shores – casualties and refugees by the millions." The headstone
> would read, Bangladesh, 1971-2071: born in blood, died in water.
>

Anonymous said...

I have read, in fact that the land area of Bangladash is increasing due to silt run off. Further, your knowledge of geology is very creaky if you believe any rise of temperature can cause tectonic upheaval. The Maldives problem is the same as that of Tuvalu, which both claim sea level rises as inundating the islands whereas, in the case of Tuvalu at least, the Royal Canadian Air Force, who have had a weather station there since 1947, report that the population is excessive and two many wells are being dug leading to salination of the soil and crumbling of the coastlines. But of course its really climate! change!

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